


The Performance Begins

by Theoroark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Murder, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18122783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: But Sombra had found that Amélie wasn’t satisfied with just knowing, didn’t just like working for her. She liked working with her. She liked being part of the hunt.And she was good at it.





	The Performance Begins

**Author's Note:**

> For [@areollawena](https://twitter.com/areollawena)/[@gabriellawena](https://twitter.com/Gabriellowena) on twitter, for her [amazing vampire Sombra art](https://twitter.com/areollawena/status/1105867174319742978)\- thank you again so so much <3 <3 <3

There was not much, on the face of it, that distinguished La Salon de Sombra from other strip clubs. It was certainly more dramatic, candelabras and Victorian tables. But the women still danced and stripped. And yet, it was popular. Because, as its regulars would eventually come to realize, it didn’t feel depressing, in the way other clubs did. The dancers seemed happy. And that made a world of difference. 

 

The dancers spoke particularly highly of the club’s owner. Only among themselves, of course, or to girls trepidatiously asking about job opportunities. The owner was a short woman, prone to bright purple and black leather, who the guests never saw but who seemed to know everything about them. She called herself Sombra, both because she enjoyed the club’s atmosphere, and because Olivia Colomar had died well over a hundred years ago. 

 

-

 

Sombra knew the women knew. Maybe they did not know the particular, the exact methods Sombra employed. But they knew that the men who crossed the line, even those who so much as insulted them, did not return to the club. Sometimes they didn’t even return from the bathroom. The dancers knew this, and Sombra would watch them smile as particularly disgusting men left, and smile when they saw Sombra slip out through the back door. 

 

But Sombra had found that Amélie wasn’t satisfied with just knowing, didn’t just like working for her. She liked working with her. She liked being part of the hunt. 

 

And she was good at it. The man Amélie was dancing on was perfect prey. Inconspicuously dressed, obeyed the rules of the club, mean. The CCTV system in Sombra’s office was video only, and the man was not touching Amélie. It wasn’t something Sombra had hard evidence of. But after years of running the club, and years of hunting at it, she had developed a sense for who would be her meal. Who loved feeling powerful so much, that they had no idea what real power looked like. 

 

The man said something to Amélie, and her fake smile got tighter. The hunger surged up Sombra’s throat and she could see how ruddy he looked, even in the grainy footage. Still, she waited. Amélie had final say on the prey. Because she was tough, tougher than Sombra would like, sometimes, and would make hard and rational calculations about who was not too much of an asshole and just good enough a tipper to return. 

 

Amélie looked into the lens of the camera, just a glimpse, just a second, before she was simpering back at the man. But it was enough for Sombra. She sat back, satisfied. She would eat. She just had to be patient. 

 

-

 

“He asked to talk to you,” Amélie told her, when Sombra met her at the bar. She smiled ruefully down at the scotch Sombra handed her. “Has he been here before?”

 

“No. I just know my shitheads.” Amélie laughed and Sombra poured a shot. She looked over Amélie’s shoulder. The man was on the phone, gesticulating in a measured but simmering way. He could wait. She pushed the glass towards Amélie. 

 

“What did he want to talk to me about?” Sombra asked. 

 

Widow downed the shot before she responded. “Wants to know why you hire girls with small tits,” she said. 

 

“He’s been buying your time all day. The fuck is he complaining now for.”

 

“Because he’s been buying my time all day, and he’s just realized I know how pathetic that makes him.”

 

Sombra looked back at the man. He was winding down his call. “Tell him that I’m very sorry,” she said. “And that for his inconvenience, and in appreciation of his patronage, he can have a free session in the back room.”

 

-

 

When the curtain closed behind the man, Amélie got to drop the mask. Part of the hunt was aggravating the prey. So she said, “No touching,” in a bored montone when the man’s hand hit her waist. 

 

“I paid for you,” he said. “I’ll do what you want.”

 

“You didn’t pay for anything. It was comped.”

 

The man didn’t take his hand away. He put his other one on her waist as well, instead. He leered down at Amélie, so sure of himself that he must have thought her smile was for him. He did not notice Sombra approaching behind him, not until Sombra’s fangs were sunk into his neck. And by then, Sombra had crushed his larynx, and his scream for help died with him. 

 

Sombra drank until the man’s already pale skin was nearly white. Then she sat back on her heels, satisfied, and moved her hand over his heart, ripping aside his white cotton t shirt. 

 

“Wait,” Widow said. Sombra shot her a questioningly look, which turned to a grin as Amélie pulled a cigar box out of his jeans pocket. Amélie cut the end of a cuban and lit it as Sombra put her hand down and hissed out an incantation, and took a drag as the desiccated  body turned to ash. 

 

“There are easier ways to get cigars,” Sombra said, when the spell had run its course through her. 

 

Amélie took her time responding, blowing out the smoke in rings and watching them dissipate. “Please,” she said, finally. “You got what you wanted. This is just my treat to myself.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Sombra said. She kissed the inside of Amélie’s knee and ran her hands along the tops of her thighs, fingers bumping over thin black stockings. Amélie opened her legs for Sombra to crawl between them and when she exhaled cigar smoke again, her breath was ragged. Sombra could smell how wet she was, almost taste it, but her mouth was covered in blood and she never wanted Amélie to feel powerless against her. She looked up. 

 

“Yeah,” Amélie said. Her legs spread open and her head tilted back and Sombra hadn’t even touched her properly yet. “Yeah. Yeah.”

 

Sombra pulled Amélie’s panties to the side and licked inside of her and the noise Amélie made shot through her veins. Sombra tasted Amélie alongside the man’s blood and it made her feel alive. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Bonus: the dude Sombra killed](https://twitter.com/areollawena/status/1106239094936535042)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm [@tacticalgrandma](https://twitter.com/areollawena) on twitter/tumblr if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments/kudos would mean the world to me <3


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